Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

Even a hippo-thickness braincase was not proof against that. Amemait’s head dropped. “Get out from under!” yelled Cruz, trying to suit the action to the word. The monster fell against the wall, trapping and crushing him along with several of the others.

Then Cruz got to see just how strong the dwarf really was. Bes had leaped clear, and now hauled the monster away from the wall. Actually the wall had undoubtedly saved Henri, Lamont and Liz’s lives. If Amemait had simply fallen on them, they would have been squashed. As it was, they had time to squirm clear. Just.

“Phew.” Cruz felt his ribs, after carefully inspecting the claw slash on Medea. “Thanks . . . mister. What did you say your name was? Bes. I wouldn’t want to wrassle with you.”

Bes grinned his wide red-mouthed grin. “Fun!” He chuckled. “I like to fight. I don’t like what . . . ”

A chanting was coming down the passage from whence Amemait had come. Bes stood, as if turned to stone. His eyes burned.

* * *

A column of bald-headed priests in their white robes came down the passage. Behind them came more spearmen. The long passage was full of them.

“Greetings, foreigners. We have come to rescue you.”

“You’re a bit late,” said Jerry weakly. And he saw Mac fall over. Too late, Jerry realized he was falling also. He should have picked up on the spell-chant earlier.

They were bound and gagged and carried out, leaving Bes standing stonelike, staring angrily.

They were loaded like so many sacks of potatoes onto the waiting donkeys, and carried away into the twilight. Away, and out across the desert. One of the guards mentioned a name in low-voiced conversation with the others. Sebek. Then there was silence for a long time except for the clop of hooves and the distant howling of a jackal.

34

Old crocs never die.

They just smell that way.

The lake lay like a sheet of silver in the predawn. Not a whisper of a breeze dared to ripple the glassy water. On the far side, Jerry could make out the dark square bulk of the temple of Sebek.

Crocodilopolis, the Greeks had called it. The domain of Sebek, the crocodile-headed god. Jerry’s mind worked overtime all of that long night, coming up with new and highly innovative spells to use on the crocodile-god and his followers, particularly the ones who had trussed him up like this. He set aside an especially nasty one for the donkeys.

But the gagging was singularly effective. And all the spells needed to be spoken.

He soon had some more curses for the bald-shaved son of a bitch that tipped him off the donkey into the mud, and then dragged him to the small felucca and tossed him facedown onto the ribs of the boat.

At least on the other side they were carried. Before being tossed into a stone cell.

* * *

For her part, Liz spent all night determinedly chewing away at the foul-tasting rag. By the time the three of them were tossed into the stone-doored cell, the linen was nearly ready to call it quits. It was too dim here to see who’d been tossed in with her, but the high-slit window would give more light later. In the meanwhile, she chewed.

One of the others—Medea, as it turned out—rolled in a clumsy fashion across the floor to her. The third bound figure just groaned. Medea spat out her gag. She’d obviously spent the night chewing too. The sorceress squirmed her way down to the thick, coarse ropes that bound Liz. Medea was going to take a lot of stopping. Liz chewed on determinedly. Eventually the linen strip gave in.

Pah. By the taste she guessed at old mummy wrappings.

“Let’s go and see who else they put in here,” said Liz, as soon as she could talk.

The third prisoner was Lamont. Even in the dim light it was obvious he’d been beaten, as well as trussed up.

“Shit. Why did they hit him?” Liz was furious.

“They said she was a Cushite sorceress,” replied Medea.

Liz strained at her bonds. “We need to get our hands free and give him some first aid. Do you think he’s okay?”